All We Know Is Nothing
by I Philosoraptor
Summary: True knowledge exists in knowing that you know nothing." The turning leaves are no longer the only things painted crimson in this quiet coastal New England town when a rash of violent crimes sweeps through. OC, main cast, romance/language, no slash.
1. Step One

**_Author's Note: _**_This is my first attempt any any kind of "fan fiction", and the first fictional/character based piece I've written in over a year. First thing I've written at all in months- so please bear with me while I get my writing legs back! I'm not entirely sure where this story is going to go yet; so if you have any ideas, thoughts, suggestions or input I'd love to hear it. I'm not sure what else to say other than I wish I could say I'll be updating regularly, but I regret to tell you now that that will most likely not be the case- my job is a little hectic and unpredictable, and I'm about to be going through some big changes (moving, new job, not sure what's happen in the next chapter of my life, pardon the pun). _

_I hope you enjoy the story and the characters, I would love any feedback you guys have to offer. Thanks for reading!_

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not own any aspect of the Criminal Minds series, I am merely borrowing them for the moment, and promise to return them to their original condition when I am finished._

The car shuddered slightly as she cut the ignition, the steady vibrations of the engine quieted. Leaning forward over the wheel she peered up at the large grey concrete structure she had parked in front of. "Why they insist on making all of these buildings as hideous as possible " she didn t even bother to finish her thought as she opened the door and hopped from the jeep landing deftly on 4" heels.

"George Feign."

"Hmm? I m sorry-" the doe-eyed secretary smiled lazily, looking up from what can only be assumed was a _very_ important text message.

"George" she carefully annunciated, "Feign" she finished deliberately.

The blonde secretary looked down at the appointment book open on her desk, stealing a glance, rather un-stealthily, at her cell.

"Umm," she said, tilting her chin slightly, looking rather perplexed, "he hasn't signed in yet, but if you want to wait, he should be coming in soon" she trailed off uncertainly.

With a smile that was almost more a smirk the woman in heels looked down into her purse pulling out a small plastic card to hold in front of the rhinoplastied nose.

"_Georg_iana Feign" she emphasized the first half of the word.

"Oh."

"Which way?" It was clear to Secretary Barbie as well as the small briefcase carrying audience that no further assistance would be required.

"In, uh, just through-" the blush in her cheeks quickly matching the shade of her lipgloss.

"Thank-you" without waiting for the rest of the answer. Sliding the ID card back into her large red bag she clicked off down the hall, disappearing through heavy double doors.


	2. Long Walk

**Author's Note: **_Sorry for the delay in updating this Chapter, I'm sorry to say I've actually had it written for quite some time. Life gets in the way of fun stuff like writing, boo. Hoping the next one will be up quickly! I'm already hard at work on the next one, but as always would love your input! Please read, review, and share ideas._

**Disclaimer:** _We all know I don't own Criminal Minds._

Georgiana, or as she had been known since she was old enough to insist on it, George, was anything but patient. "Tempestuous", "confident", "unyieldingly stubborn" even. It had to be assumed that she was also hardworking; only in her mid twenties she had studied philosophy, ethics, law and culinary arts at several well-respected schools in the nation and abroad.

Walking through the offices at the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, George could be spotted a mile away. Her flaming deep red mane certainly stood out, as did her rather unconventional attire- a figure hugging high waisted black pencil skirt under a light grey wool military style jacket. At first glance it was not so unordinary, perhaps it was the addition of her heels- reaching just above her ankles, adorned with ten buckles securing her feet into the 4" height. More likely than not it was the combination of her clothes, hair, and take no prisoners attitude.  
_Link_- George's Outfit: .com/ch1_step_one/set?id=12676718

Upon closer inspection it was her crystal clear sapphire eyes, with irises rimmed in the deepest shade of cobalt. Not only the striking color of her eyes, but the way they seemed to take in her every surrounding that was so intangibly drawing.

Her long stride quickly ate up the carpeted hallway, her shoes silenced by the dark blue rug that led into the BAU bullpen. Slowing slightly to scan the cubicle in search of someone to point her towards-

"Agent Hotcher's office?" The words were effortless and clear, and could have been meant for anyone, yet the ears they fell on were made to feel as if only they existed. As the fiery red head walked off in the direction the young agent had instructed he took a moment to compose himself, flustered as much by his encounter with this strange young woman as his reaction to said encounter. While the FBI wasn't exactly know for its throngs of young attractive female employees it had no more of a deficit than any other modern workplace.

"Whoahoho," wowed Derek Morgan as George's slender frame disappeared around a corned and out of sight. "Did you," started Morgan, looking around for an appropriate audience and settling on Reid. "Did you _see_ that?"

"I, uh, yeah Morgan." Replied Spencer Reid automatically, his eyes never wavering from the book they were rapidly scanning. He was used to Morgan's frequent distractions and it was second nature to tune him out.

"Yeah, sure you did kid." Morgan shook his head slightly, turning back in the direction he had last seen Quantico s mystery guest.

Aaron Hotchner lay his pen down on his dark mahogany desk, rubbing his furrowed brow with his newly freed hand. It never seemed that the BAU team had sufficient time to recuperate in-between cases, yet no one knew as well as Aaron that there was always another case waiting, another bad guy to get.

After years of working in the field agents develop what could almost be considered a sixth sense; they seem to know when they re being talked about, can sense a presence around the corner. And it was because of this that he was aware of a youthful presence on just the other side of the doorframe, before so much as a knock.

"Come in".


	3. Learning to Count

**_Disclaimer_**_: This is a work of fan fiction, I am simply enjoying the playground that someone else has created and only own the following words. I promise to clean up after myself and return all characters (and the plane) to their previous condition._

_**Author's Note**: I'm sorry it has been SO LONG since my last update! I've actually had this bit written to quite some time, but long story short I wasn't able to connect my laptop to the internet and had no other way of getting the info from here to the PC that IS connected to the internet at the house I'm sitting for. I snuck back into my parents house to cook and upload this! I have a lot more written and am just putting the finishing touches on the next chapter, so I'll update that ASAP. As always I would LOVE some reviews- let me know what you're thinking! Nothing is too little. Thanks a ton everyone! Hope you enjoy- here's for you:_

George Feign stood not uncomfortably, but less assured than the walk that led her there would have led one to assume, behind the door, which itself was standing slightly ajar.

"Come in."

Pushing the door open George glided quickly across the floor stopping just short of Agent Hotchner's desk, her arm extended.

Aaron Hotchner stared for a split second longer than he would have liked before composing himself. Who the hell was this person in his office? He had enough to do that morning without trying to redirect tourists or students or whatever she was back to their tour, which weren't supposed to be anywhere near his office to begin with. The team had just flown in the night before to regroup and meet with the expert they had been forced to call in after hitting yet another dead end, and tracking him down had been a nightmare in itself, and once they had found him-

"George Feign."

Aaron quickly recovered, rose from his chair, and met the brightly manicured hand in a firm, robotic shake. He had a sneaking suspicion he understand what was happening, but was desperately wishing he was mistaken.

"You are George Feign, student of Dr. Geoffrey Prestwick?" Agent Hotchner questioned, trying desperately to hold at bay the incredulous tone that was creeping in.

George's face softened slightly in a gentle smile, she was used to people expecting 'George' to be a man, or at the very least, a butch lesbian.

"Sir," her confidence restored by Hotchner's lack there of, "I'm just as curious as to why I'm here as you are surprised to find 'George' a girl."

Her blunt honesty seemed to snap the older man back into his right mind. Clearly this was the person he had sent for, if not the one he had expected.

"Ms. Feign, correct me if I'm wrong," it was a statement, not a request, "but when Dr. Prestwick retired you became the next known leading expert in Varro's work and philosophy?"

"Well if by 'retired' you mean 'committed suicide', then yes, you're entirely correct." It was sarcastic, but only slightly so; and seemingly somewhat deserved.

Agent Hotchner was not used to being spoken to like this, and his nerves were already wearing thin.

"Perhaps I should just get straight to the point and see if you're capable of helping us." His words were harsh for someone he had just met, but not entirely out of character.

"These," he said flipping open a Bureau stamped, but otherwise ordinary manila envelope, and sliding several large photographs across the desk to where George stood, "were found with the bodies of two recent murder victims in coastal New England. It has been suggested that this bears resemblance to Varro's writing. Other than that we don't know much, we were hoping Dr. Prestwick might have been able to help..." he trailed off, the unspoken question left handing in the air.

Her eyes not lifting from the glossy images she gently fingered, "It would be helpful if I could see the previous verses." Lifting her eyes she wondered why they were keeping the other notes from her; did they not think she could handle a photograph of a bloody rhyme?

Agent Hotchner looked at the young scholar standing across from him, his face becoming even sterner than it had been a moment ago. He met her expectant gaze, "These," his fingers firmly taping the photographs between the two, "are the only victims."

"You mean, you haven't found them yet?" Her comment was stripped of all sarcasm, her bright blue eyes honestly questioning the information that had just been fed to her.

* * *

A brief knock on the solid wood door broke the silence that had enveloped the room after George's discovery.

An attractive blonde pushed open the oak door, her nose buried in a manila folder similar to the one on Agent Hotchner's desk.

"Hotch, we've got another one," she sighed. "Same MO, and-" she stopped suddenly, surprised by the presence of an extra body in Hotch's office.

"Oh, I, I'm sorry," her face involuntarily reading mild shock, confusion and a healthy dose of intrigue. "I- whenever you're done," she stuttered, holding up the folder as she attempted to back out of the office and towards the bullpen where she was sure the other members of the team would love the gossip.

"No, JJ, let's see it." Agent Hotchner held up his hand first in a rather crossing-guard like manner, and then in a "this way, please" style.

"Agent Jennifer Jerau, our communication's liaison; George Feign." George noticed that Agent Hotchner always spoke in a very calm manner, and even when the obvious emphasis was placed on her name his voice still had a very reassuring quality.

"JJ, please," smiled the blonde as she made room for the file on the already crowded desk. She clearly knew that a George Feign would be coming, but...

Turning her attention mainly back to Hotch, but careful not to exclude the elephant in the room standing next to her, "Like I said, everything the same as before," her head slightly animated as she spoke, "and another lovely note," the sarcasm practically dripping from her lips as she slapped a photo on the desk.

George leaned over the desk, her slender hand carefully repositioning the photograph of the latest piece of evidence. "Six."

JJ's face twisted, "I'm sorry?" she smiled, equally perplexed by this strange woman next to her, the most recent "clue", and this woman's reaction to the clue.

Aaron Hotchner briefly closed his eyes; he knew exactly what she had meant.

"How many, total?"

Once again the clear blue eyes met squarely with the dark chocolate ones, "Ten".


	4. 350 Miles Per Hour

_**Author's Note: **So I guess this is the part where I explain myself? I'm sorry I haven't updated this sooner, I had most of it written but then was having a very difficult time finding a place for a chapter break and the end of the chapter in general.... which is why this is CH4 Part One. I still haven't finished the damn ending for this chapter- I know what I want to happen, I just need to have it come out of my brain and land on the paper_ _without too many casualties. Also I think it's worth noting (not making excuses, honest!) my horse became very sick on Thanksgiving, I moved and subsequently moved back, and have basically gone bankrupt since my last update- which is why you're only getting this now.... I'm hoping having this much up (along with your reviews!!!) will encourage me to finish Ch4 Pt2 very shortly! Did I mention I also have caught the plague? _

_So read on my lovelies! And please, do review!_

Everything We Know Is Nothing

Chapter 4, Part One

"Three Hundred and Fifty Miles Per Hour"

So explain this again, we know there have been previous victims how exactly? Agent Prentiss asked, settling into her usual seat on the BAUs jet.

The rest of the team had all returned to the BAU Headquarters and were quickly ushered to the plane. Sitting in their usual seats in the plush jet they patiently awaited their team leader.

Whoever left the notes knew Varros philosophy by heart, he wasnt quoting from any published version yet there are no inaccuracies. Someone with this much dedication and reverence for Varro wouldnt simply start with the middle versus like that, Varro had very specific reasoning for laying out the order that he did.

The other five heads on the plane whipped around in the direction the unfamiliar voice had come from. As they watched a ferociously red head of hair emerged from the stairway, gently bobbing up the steps. As she reached the top of the short flight the slender redhead turned toward the cabin, smiling and tucking a piece of her ample mane behind her ear as she did so.

Uh, guys, JJ slowly rising from her chair, this is George Feign, her tone was almost motherly and seemed to say, Okay kids, play nice. With a stern look at her team she continued, George will be helping in the field and with anything concerning Varro, a kind of translator of sorts.

George, this is the team; Agents Prentis, Rossi, pointing to the pair sitting near the rear of the plane, Morgan and Dr. Reid, she finished, gesturing to the remaining bodies in the plane. As polite hellos were exchanged George felt a light hand on her shoulder, If youll take a seat well take off, Agent Hotchner gestured to the empty seats, taking one for himself as he did.

Looking around George selected an empty seat facing the unoccupied seat next to JJ and sank comfortably into it, slipping her shoes off as she did. The blonde smiled at the redhead, who wondered if that was part of her job as liaison, or if she had just naturally adopted the role of caretaker.

I know Hotch went over a few things with you earlier, but I thought you might like to read the -official file- JJ joked with the last two words. Clearly a natural role, George decided and JJ handed her the file and a warm grin.

The case file wasnt thick. The two, now three, victims had nothing in common. One was a dermatologist, one a high school teacher, and the most recently a grant writer. They had no known connections, practiced different religions, lived in different areas, different family types, and even the supreme genius of Penelope Garcia wasnt able to find any other connections. Each victim had died in completely unrelated ways as well.

The dermatologist had at first thought to have committed suicide, having been found on the shore of the local swimming spot, apparently drowned. The autopsy had revealed that she had struggled and had bruises around her neck before dying, however the amount of water in her lungs implied that she had indeed drowned.

The high school teacher had been found alone in his apartment without so much as a sign of struggle for company. The autopsy revealed he had died of acute hemlock poisoning.

The most recent victim was the greatest mystery, having been found in his car, parked in his buildings garage, cause of death was still undetermined.

As George was reading the file her face went from concentrated frown to a look of almost sick shock.

JJ, is this Where are we going?

Caught off guard, JJ stifled a laugh, Hotch didnt tell you? Why am I not surprised, hes like that- youll get used to it. Were headed up north, little seaside town called Sheldon Falls.

Oh. It was an extremely loaded oh.

Nobody else on the plane besides Hotch, who was actually working, had been paying full attention to what was in front on him or her; instead, they were all casually watching George. Profilers could never fully turn off the part of their brain that analyzed the people around them.

Are you familiar with it? The question came from directly in front of George, one row ahead, where a tall dark and extremely handsome agent was seated. The question was a genuine one, but there was the slightest hint of mischief in his chocolate eyes.

Uhm, I uh, her unusual lack of directness wasnt from discomfort, but almost seemed to be a form of stalling, as if the answer was down a road George didnt particularly want to travel.

I grew up not too far from there, actually, she gave in, this time her gaze avoided the chocolate brown eyes pointed at her. To a plane filled with your average citizens the last statement would have been simple and straightforward, but to some of the nations finest minds there was more to it than meets the ear.

George had struggled with how to explain her connection to the area. She didnt feel she could honestly say she had lived in the area, but she wasnt sure she was ready to open the can of worms she was traveling towards at 350 miles an hour, 30,000 ft above the ground. To say she had grown up there was very possibly the best explanation.

Grew up there, huh? smirked the handsome agent, you didnt live there? he jokingly showed off his profiling skills.

George smiled back, her eyes flirting a little, it wasnt unusual for either George or Morgan to flirt with an attractive member of the opposite sex, and Morgans team was more than used to him playing the ladies man.

Well, I spent more time at school than actually living at home. She could have been a politician for all the directness shed shown so far on the flight. Boarding school in France, she said with mock bravado.

Really? Emily Prentiss adjusted her seat, scooting closer to George. My mother is an ambassador, we traveled a lot, I spent a year at Lyce Devoucoux.

You didnt! Six years! Six years of my life they stole! Exclaimed George with a laugh as the two women exploded into reminiscence of their days at Lyce Devoucoux. Is Mme Durand still there?! or Ahhh! Solennel dner! The banter continued for some time, the two women recalling stories of crotchety old teachers, school traditions, and adventures of the grounds.

Wait.. Feign as in the Davenport Feigns? As in Kathryne Swan? Prentiss queried, her interest suddenly elevated.

Ohhh, George moaned, Dont tell me you were in son Altesse?

Emily Prentisss eyes grew wide, Oh god no, was her quick response, the idea obviously a bit silly if you knew anything about her earlier years, but I mean, Devoucoux is so small, everyone knew everything, she was practically a legend. She even visited once when I was there, with her little girl; it was so sad to hear about that.

Georges eyes suddenly narrowed, and the ferocity that had been present since she first arrived at the BAU Headquarters but had slowly been melting, returned, full force.

Im sorry, what? She spat.

Emily pulled back slightly, a look of sheer confusion on her face, Im sorry, I dont shaking her head in confusion, not knowing what to say.

The rest of the team, who had turned back to their own thoughts looked up once again.

It was sadd? Georges words cut, her diction intensified. Who did Emily think she was? Who did Emily think George was?

Of course I cant imagine what it must be like for you and your family, a sudden death like that is always so hard. Im just sorry for your loss. Emily finished, entirely confused, trying to salvage the situation. Clearly George was still upset about the loss of Kathryn Swans daughter, and it wasnt unusual for family of victims to be upset by others sympathy.

Now it was Georges turn to be confused. What on earth are you talking about?!

Her daughter died in a boating accident a couple of years ago replied Emily, without even thinking.

Everyone on the plane was thoroughly confused. Even the pilot was confused.

Well then I must be a ghost, or perhaps Im resurrected Jesus! At this point George wasnt speaking directly to Prentiss, or to anyone in particular; and in all honesty you couldnt really say she was speaking anymore, speaking would imply a polite conversation volume, which George was certainly _not _ using.

Who on _earth_ told you I died? She had calmed down, surprisingly quickly, and the question was almost a laugh.

The rest of the team was still reeling from the roller coaster of emotions George had just whipped through, she had gone from angered to offended to confused to what Reid was sure was insanity. Morgan still had his eyebrows raised from her quip about being Jesus, and Hotch was still trying to let everything register _certainly_ not what he had expected.

Emily, with the look of someone who had just been asked a question they didnt know they didnt know the answer to, had no other option but to laugh.

I I dont know! her face scrunching in a confused smile that quickly broke into a soft laugh, and the tension evaporated.

Georges face, too, broke into a soft smile. It wasnt a particularly toothy smile, but there was something about the way it affected her entire face, and if you looked straight into her eyes you couldnt help but feel something. Whatever was lacking her in her smile was more than made up for in her eyes, if not only in sheer depth- looking into her eyes was like looking into another place.

As the plane hummed along Prentiss quieted down into her book, which she had previously neglected in a seat at the front of the plane, and Derek Morgan found his way into the seat across from George.


End file.
